Welcome! Here are the latest things I'm working on.

Writing (Latest Book)
The Admonishments of Kherishdar (Amazon), companion volume to the Aphorisms. Crime and punishment, justice and sin in an alien empire where people become their crimes.

Writing (Latest Projects)
Spots the Space Marine, a series of occasional flash pieces about a 30-ish-year-old reservist killing bugs (follow at the spots the space marine tag). Also, preparing Flight of the Godkin Griffin for print.

Next One-Card Draw: (tags: balance cards, one card draw) Beginning of July.

Art (Latest Project)
(tag: 100 sketchbook retrospective) The 100 Sketchbook Retrospective! Fourteen years and over 9000 sketches later, walk with me down memory lane! Updates every few weeks.

Art (Next Sale)
Going on now, Summer 2009 Sale, check it out!

Cons: GOH at MFF 2009

Aliens Killed While in Powered Armor: 849
High Security Messages Delivered: 16

Stardancer Home.

Spots the Space Marine is a twice-weekly pay-at-whim serial. Find out more and read prior episodes.

Testing Facility. There are multiple dummy targets in this room (crab-shaped) and a great deal of equipment. Samuel-Colt gives Spots a glove with a shield-generator, then picks up a clipboard.

Interrogative rising glide. "You were there also, mother's-escort?"

"Uh, yes, sir."

"The sir is not necessary... ours is a peer relationship. Since you were present, please speak freely when you have pertinent observations. Your views may be important." Samuel-Colt glances at Peaches. Another glide, this one longer and more gradual. "That is well with you Lieutenant-Savannah-Bonnet?"

"Yes, that's fine. Oblige him, Corporal, if you have anything relevant to add."

"Will do, ma'am."

Low drone. "Very good. Please proceed, Mother-soldier."

Spots demonstrates, slicing the targets. Samuel-Colt follows her with a clipboard, bent over her.

"So you are contracting the field's edge and using the bottom curve?"

"I... yes, I think so."

"By how great a margin?"

"I... don't know, I wasn't thinking about it. I guess short enough for my arm to handle?"

"Are you willing to demonstrate again?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then permit me a moment." Samuel-Colt removes a clipper from the back of his clipboard and chops off two fingertips. He pops them into his mouth, crunches once and they're gone. Then he wiggles the new, shorter fingers, which have small visible holes at the ends. "Continue."

Claws. "Jesus Christ! What the **** was that?"

Kenyan. "You get used to it."

Spots looks up at the alien, pained. "Doesn't that hurt?"

Reassuring, alternating two notes. "No, Mother-soldier. And it allows me to better feel the shield resonances. I will be able to gauge their length myself from the sound. Please continue? More slowly. I will hold my hand near you."

"All right. Of course."

They run through the demonstration again.

"Uh, I have an observation. A more relevant one than my last one."

Peaches. "Go ahead."

"This demo's not replicating the actual situation very well. You may be getting different data than you want."

Spots, frowning. "I think he's right, but sparring with this thing... it cuts through armor. I don't want to hurt anyone by accident!"

Samuel-Colt. Quick, excited notes. "That concern can be addressed if your partner is willing to wear a shield tuned off-key to yours. You will not be able to penetrate."

Claws is about to speak, but the gunny beats him to it. "I'll do it."

Ten minutes later after modificaton of the second generator, the two of them face off.

"Now don't feel weird about this, Guitart. Just cut loose. I can take it."

"Are you sure...?"

"Positive."

Spots takes a deep breath... and goes for him. Samuel-Colt lunges after her, waving his hands in the periphery of their frenzied activity. She does not hold back or stop until the alien speaks.

"Good! Enough, thank you."

Peaches, frowning. "Strange to watch an armed fight with nothing to show you where the weapon is."

Gunny. "There's a rim of light when the cutting edge comes through, but it's quick."

Peaches. "So... this whole... novel use of the shield is because of the edge?"

Samuel-Colt. Tense, interested trill. "That is correct. Also, the rapid modulation of size. The mother's-escort was correct to change the parameters of the demonstration. The live-fight test was very different."

Peaches. "I'm not sure of the utility of using the shields this way. You'd need so much training to do it properly and then to coordinate it with your squadmates. What would be the advantage, weighed against that?"

Gunny, looking at Spots. "Why'd you do it this way, Guitart?"

Spots. "Um... instead of using the gun?"

"Yeah."

"I... I don't know." She chews her lip, frowning. "Maybe I didn't want to hit him? Rounds that pierce crab-armor do for ours as well."

Claws. "If I may?" They look at him. "I think she did it because the shield engages more of the enemy simultaneously. Look..." He drags three of the foam targets together. They tower over him by several feet. "If I'm standing here... right up in their faces... and I shoot one..." He points his finger at the belly of one target. "I don't have time to swing it far enough to engage the second target when they're this close. But the shield in weapon-shape—" He lifts his arm, elbow out and forearm parallel to the ground. "—that hits all three of them at the same time. And in shield-shape, it'll do a whole 180 bubble, nearly."

Peaches, musing. "It's a better weapon if you're in the middle of them."

Claws. "I surely wouldn't want to be shootin' crab-piercing rounds at point-blank myself, ma'am."

Spots, wide-eyed. "I... I don't think I was thinking all of that, Claws."

" 'Course not. You ain't doin' calculus when you catch a ball, but you'd need the math to describe the act. You don't have to know how to talk 'bout what you're doin' to do it." He looks at Samuel-Colt. "Look, so we get these shields and you tell us they're for sniper-shieldin' only, because the bullets passing through from the inside degrade the shield, right?"

Slow, thoughtful glide, falling. "That is correct. The interruptions are too abrupt, far more abrupt than humans brushing against them. That is why you can tap the inside with your finger but firing through it drains the power cell."

"I'll pretend I get the theory there. More important, though... two shields as shields work together, we do that already. Can two shields work together when one is being used as a weapon? Like, say... if Spots here's got the full half-bubble, can I slide my cutting edge through hers to hit what's coming?"

Samuel-Colt, studying Claws. He doesn't make any music at all. "Yesss... that should be possible. The shields are constructed to harmonize... that is why I had to re-tune the shield for the Mother-soldier's fighting partner."

Peaches. "I see where you're going with that, Corporal. But it would still take a lot of training."

Claws. "Maybe so, ma'am. Still, it's an alternative."

Peaches eyes him, speculatively. "So it is." To Samuel-Colt. "Is that enough, sir? These two need their down-time."

Samuel-Colt. Quick arpeggio, falling. "Yes, thank you. I have a great deal to consider."

"Very good. Gunny, can you walk them to the Door?"

"Will do, ma'am."

Spots. "Goodbye, Samuel-Colt. And nice to meet you, Mr. Kenyan."

"Fare well, mother-soldier." A pause. A quick, almost laughing arpeggio, up first, then down. "The fingers will grow back."

Spots laughs. "I'm glad to hear it!"

###

Back in the barracks.

"Can you sleep an hour?"

"Oh, yes."

"All right, I'll leave the light off then. No way I can put my head down that long and get anythin' out of it."

"Hey, Claws? The lieutenant was very impressed with you, I think."

"Aw shucks, Spots. She ain't my type. I like 'em older."

"Claws! That's not what I m—"

"Don't worry though, I'm not into brunettes. I prefer 'em red."

"You're terrible, Claws."

"Don't I know it. Night, Spots."

Claws turns the light off. In the dark, he puts a hand to his brow. Shortly after he whispers a curse. Spots opens her eyes a crack at the sound, but doesn't ask.




###

Wow, this was a long one. o_O Plus, art! Also, I am excited to report we are over halfway to our next "give to charity" mark! We already have seventeen patrons! You folks are awesome. :)

Donate.


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Tags: serial, spots the space marine, writing

Tonight is my night off! Gym day!

Word of the Day (The "There's a Word for That?" edition)
reredos n, 1: a screen or a decorated part of the wall behind an altar in a church 2: the back of a fireplace or of a medieval open hearth.

Baby at 22 Months
Several of you have commented on how I write the baby's dialogue. She really does have a "baby accent," of sorts, and making sense of what she's saying often involves context more than it does actually hearing her. "bee NAIIIIIS!" could be anything, but since she's heard a cartoon animal saying, "Be nice!" I know she's repeating something she's heard. I think that's the only reason I have better luck with figuring her out than her father does... I spend more time with her, so I'm more aware of the things she might have heard from me or others.

It occurred to me while talking with my grandfather and having to repeat a couple of things for him to be able to understand me that I have a baby accent in Spanish. The same kind of mushy-mouthed imperfection that comes from not knowing if the sounds that come out of your mouth are going to sound like the ones in your head.

Realizing this has definitely given me a different perspective on the baby's frustrations as she tries to make herself understood.

Current Plans
Post the Spots... took me a long time to draft that one! I don't have any other plans for today, I have family stuff to do. I did make another mug last night, though. Girls with swords!

Elsewhere
• Chinese Knots. Excellent art reference. From dracosphynx.
• The Music Instinct. elusivetiger and I caught this show, it was excellent! (eseme, you were right... it was well worth watching. :) )


Stardancer Home.

Tags: daily post, language, linguistics
Current Mood: tired

Turns out I was right yesterday when I thought, "Hmm, this cloud pattern looks tropical." We have been drenched. And are still being.

Word of the Day
regale, v 1: to entertain or feast sumptuously 2: to give pleasure or amusement to

Baby at 22 Months
A lot of people by now have talked to me about their kids, in-person and online (which I find delightful). A question I often used to ask was how touchy/huggy their children were. Some tell me their kids were cuddly from birth... always wanting to lie in their arms or be near them. Other children were more like my daughter: they popped into the world and immediately wanted to explore it on their own, thanks, no time for that huggy stuff. It was comforting to know I wasn't the only mom with a kid who would get all stiff and wiggly and irritated when I hugged her.

But these days she's much more affectionate. I'd like to say 'now that she's older,' but it seems ridiculous to think of a few months as that radical a time period. Still I perceive a definitive change: she likes to hug people now, and she often offers the morning kiss before I can ask her for it. She will clamber into my lap of her own volition now, sometimes.

It makes me wonder how much of affectionate behavior is nature and how much of it nurture. Is she changing because of what she's observing? Or is this an innate change? I wonder.

Current Plans
Yesterday I had a killer work-out physically and creatively (in a good way). I had previously known the basic plot for Spots... now I know how it ends and... wow, yes! Let's go there! I am excited. I was reflecting while jogging in place that I wouldn't have thought a story based on so many time-honored tropes had the potential to hone my writing skills, but I was so wrong to think that in so many ways. I am really happy to be writing Spots. I am learning so much! And having so much fun! It's criminal. :)

So my plan today is to draft tomorrow's Spots. Leftover energy will be used for... I don't know. I doubt there will be any. :)

Elsewhere (the Medical Controversy Edition)
• Anti-Anxiety Drugs Raise New Fears.
• Swedish Parents Keep 2-year-old's Gender Secret. From cutelildrow.

Youtube Has My Music
Propaganda - Duel. German synthpop. Great work-out song. Got it from my sister in the 80's.


Stardancer Home.

Tags: daily post
Current Mood: rained on
Current Music: Propaganda - Duel

Spots the Space Marine is a twice-weekly pay-at-whim serial. Find out more and read prior episodes.

Two days later. Barracks. Spots is putting a rosary aside. Claws reaches for the compartment light.

"Done?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Righty. Good n—"

Spots's earbug chirps. She places it against her ear. "Guitart." Listens. "On my way." She rolls out of bed and starts dressing.

"Spots?"

"Dunno... I'm supposed to report to the lieutenant at the Door." She finishes dressing. "Back... soon, I guess."

Once she's out the door Claws gets up and taps the screen beside his bunk. A disgruntled Scythe appears.

"This has better be good, I was just getting back to sleep."

"Dreamin' about ninety-two virgins?"

"Oh, for God's sake. My ****ing grandmother would punch you in the ****ing mouth for that. What the **** is it?"

"Bonny Peaches just called for Spots. What gives?"

"Dunno, had something to do with the fiddler."

"With the alien?"

"Yep."

"****, Scythe, this is our sack time. Sack time is sacred."

"You don't argue with Peaches. Or do you want them to kick Rambo the First out of the grave, see if he can do better by us the second time around?"

"**** no, no. Dammit."

"Go back to bed, Claws. She might be the noobiest of noobs, but she can handle a little quality time with the LT."

"You're not the **** who's going to have a sleepless buddy at your back tomorrow."

"Whine whine." The circuit cuts. Claws grouses and throws himself on his bunk. The lights flick off.

###

Spots heads to the Door, which leads to high-security areas of the base. Three figures are waiting there: a short lanky man with stringy hair in civilian dress; and two Marines, a fit young woman and an older man with stubble for hair, the same who comforted Spots at the Real Window.

"Private Guitart reporting as ordered, ma'am."

"Come with us, Guitart."

"Yes, ma'am."

The civilian swipes an ID card through the door reader. After a few halls, they enter a room lined with computers and 3d imaging stations. Samuel-Colt is among them. In proper lighting, he is tan with black and brown markings. The fluorescing blue paint on his shell looks almost black.

The civilian speaks first.

"Hey Sam, we brought her."

"Good, that is very good..." The alien trails off. His vestigial arms squeak a sudden, disturbed note. "Where is her escort?"

The civilian points at the two Marines. "They brought her."

"Those humans are strangers. They do not smell like her. Where is her escort? A mother should not be without her escort."

The civilian glares at Spots now. "Who were you with when he saw you?"

"My squad-mate...? Claws, he's in the barracks."

"Dammit."

Older man. "Is it important?"

Samuel-Colt. Sharp low sound. "A mother should never be without escort. Please retrieve him. Then we can speak."

Peaches. "Can you escort him through the Door, please, Gunny?"

Older man. "Sure thing, ma'am." He steps outside.

Civilian. "Might as well sit. We won't be able to start until he gets back."

Spots, bewildered. "Start... what?"

The civilian shrugs, offers his hand. "Will Kenyan. Senior Engineer, assistant to the fiddler."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Magda."

The alien sits across from them: many arms, many legs, folded at strange angles. He studies Peaches, a young woman with blonde hair tied back in a very short ponytail. Her fresh girl-next-door face is responsible for her nickname. "We do not know this other human by name."

"I'm Lieutenant Savannah Bonnet. Nice to meet you, ah... Samuel-Colt, right?"

"That is my name. We know 'lieutenant'... that means you have authority in this situation, yes? Even over the mother?"

Peaches glances at Spots. "Ah, that's right. Yeah. Yes."

Samuel-Colt looks at Spots. Interrogatory glide (sounding almost skeptical). "This youth gives you orders?"

Firmly, Spots: "She's trained to deal with situations I'm not, Samuel-Colt. So yes, I follow her orders."

"Strange."

Spots. "Strange how?"

Kenyan, muttering. "****, don't ask him more questions."

Samuel-Colt. Single-note drone. "I will have been born, lived and died within a span that your young will live without fully maturing... and yet, despite having so many more years of experience than I would have, humans are still not considered adult. How can that be?"

Spots. "How old are you, Samuel-Colt?"

Falling pitch trill. "Fifteen years. We have already chosen my successor. Within five years, I will return to die and pass on our legacy. How old are you, Mother-soldier?"

"I'm thirty-two."

"Thirty-two years!" A rising, startled glissando. "And you, Lieutenant Savannah Bonnet?"

Peaches glances at Spots again. "Twenty-two."

"A decade between you. It is not awkward?"

Spots laughs. "It probably wasn't until you asked."

Peaches flushes, then laughs too. The door slides open. "Here's the gunny and the... ah... mother's escort. At ease, Corporal."

Samuel-Colt, approvingly to Claws. "Very good. We apologize for separating you from your charge."

Claws, bewildered. "Ain't no trouble. Uh, what's this about now?"

Samuel-Colt, turning to Spots. Quick arpeggio, rising. "We have heard that you used our shields in a non-standard way. We were hoping to discuss this incident with you."

Spots, startled. "Really?"

"It was not our intent for the shields to be used in such a fashion, but you have made a proof of concept... we are not surprised. We did not design the shield protocol to allow for constant re-configuration, but if it is a viable weapon we would like to re-visit the technology."

"Oh! Of course. Anything I can do to help."

"Then perhaps we may repair to the testing facility?"

"Yes, of course!"

###

Hope I didn't mess up the military courtesies too badly. o_O Thanks this time go to dracosphynx, genet, zilvar and _eljefe_ for making sure I didn't make some mistakes! (The rest are mine too. >.>) Anyway, to be continued Thursday!

Donate.


Stardancer Home.

Tags: serial, spots the space marine, writing

Tonight is my night off! I am meeting buymelove and her sister for coffee! Hooray, socializing! :)

Word of the Day
abjure v, 1. To recant solemnly; renounce or repudiate 2. to renounce under oath; forswear.

Scheduling
The next One Card Draw (July Edition) will be Monday the 6th at 11 AM EST. That's next week! Mark your calendars!

Baby at 22 Months
For a while now she likes to try to pre-empt my decision-making in the hopes of making things happen the way she wants. She will suggest a course of action to me, and before I can answer, will finish by saying, "OH tay," ("okay")... but she uses the intonation of someone answering a question rather than the rising intonation of someone asking one.

So it's not, "piht yuhrs" ("pictures," a request for a tour of the art hanging on the walls so she can look at each), it's "piht yuhrs OH tay," and the "okay" is always tacked on really quickly, before I can answer.

I find this cute, if futile. -_- It's very interesting to see how young we start our attempts to manipulate others into doing what we want...!

Current Plans
I'd like to get my next painting projects printed out, but realistically today the only thing I'm going to accomplish is working out. Hopefully! And the Spots later if all goes well... I have that drafted but I need to edit it a bit. We get to meet the Lieutenant and see Samuel-Colt again, so it's a long one.

Last night I put together a Jokka mug featuring Ledin, who has always been one of my favorite characters from that universe. Reminder that there's only two more days in the Zazzle Free-shipping anywhere no-minimum-order thing!

Elsewhere
• James Gurney asks an interesting question about the Elgin Marbles. I'm still thinking about this one.
• Sternocleidomastoid Syndrome. Muscle tension in your neck can cause really unusual symptoms. From elusivetiger.


Stardancer Home.

Tags: daily post
Current Mood: sleepy
Current Music: Elmo's Ducks (seriously)

"There's no 'a' in my name," the First Servant says. I grumble and turn onto my other side. "And no 'ih' either," he continues. I think about pulling the pillow over my head. "And that's not the right consonant at the beginning."

"You can't start a word with that sound!"

"You can in our tongue."

"You aren't allowed to have that name! You're not allowed to have a name I can't pronounce!"

He starts laughing. "Well, I do have a... pet name? Nickname? Casual name? How do you call those things in your language?"

"There's no good translation."

"Well, I do have one of those."

"...and I can't pronounce that one either! Please, can't you please have a name I can pronounce?"

"I would say I'm sorry, but I'm not."

When I wake up the following morning I look at the piece of paper beside the bed. Unfortunately an entire night's sleep has only solidified the name; I can't change it or fix it or make it something more tenable for my mouth.

"Tsevet", short form "tset"

I sigh and take the paper to my desk. So, the First Servant has a name.

Bloody characters. *grumble*


Stardancer Home.

Tags: ai-naidar, meta-conversations, the first servant of shame, writing
Current Mood: *grumble*

I didn't do any of the things I normally do on a weekend this weekend. Which means I can't tell it's Monday. o_O

Word of the Day
prescind, v : to withdraw one's attention

Baby at 22 Months
She loves stickers, this kid, so I usually have some lying about and when I get tired of picking them off the tile, the walls, the couch or my clothes I toss them in the trash. Sometimes she retrieves them, like she did yesterday with a large name-tag sticker (no, the kind of sticker doesn't matter... if it sticks to something, it's entertaining).

Anyway, she put it on a plastic giraffe toy, covering its face, and said, "wehr AHHHHR yuuu, gehr-ihff!" This is a variation of Peek-a-Boo we play all the time, so I looked over and said, "I don't know! Where are you, giraffe?"

Slowly she peeled the sticker off from the side and bottom, saying, "wehr AHHHRR yuuu!" until she got to the eyes. Then: "aiii SEEEE yuu!"

The eyes on this thing are two little black dots. And yet, no matter how many times she stuck that sticker onto the giraffe's face and peeled it off, she never stopped asking "Where are you?" until she got to the eyes. Uncovering the chin, the cheek, the head, ears, hair or nose of the giraffe never counted as "ai SEEEEE yu!" until she revealed those extremely abstracted eyes.

I can't describe how amazing this seemed to me, that she knew that it wasn't the face that mattered (or any of its other parts), but the eyes... and that even on a toy animal with black dots representing eyes, she decided that the toy eyes were still functional, in her own imagination where this giraffe was playing with her.

Stunning stuff.

Current Plans
Having discovered through a conversation with miintikwa that my only seeming ways to relax and have fun involve... writing, drawing and working out, I decided this weekend to try to do other things to wind down. I didn't touch a pen or keyboard or weight.

Yeah. Uh. This week: more writing, drawing and working out! :P

Elsewhere
• Eat Wild. Find local sources of grass-fed meat and similar products. From genet.
• Luxury Yachts Offer Pirate-Hunting Cruises. I am not entirely sure what to say about this, but I thought about it a long time. o_O From reality_hammer.

Monday's Quote of the Week
Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; but remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.—Epicurus (341BC-270BC)


Stardancer Home.

Tags: daily post
Current Mood: just keep swimming

I am bleary and tired and all sorts of out of sorts, but the child's favorite movie right now is Finding Nemo so while she's wandering around with a whale magnet and her rabbit I look up the times for the Florida Aquarium.

Then I help her climb into her crib for her nap. "Okay, time for sleepie with rabbit and whale! When you wake up, we'll do something fun, I promise."

"Nemo!"

"Yes," I say. "We'll see Nemo when you wake up. Have a nice nap... I love you!"

I walk out of the room. Just as I'm about to turn the corner, I hear:

"aiiii LUUUUHV yuuuu!"


*sniffle*


Stardancer Home.

Tags: mom in spots
Current Mood: best thing evar

I wanted to say a couple of things here, because they may not entirely be clear:

    • I am not a professional artist/writer.

    • I am not a starving artist/writer.

These two things have in common that they link money and artistic validation, which is an attitude I find personally poisonous and which I'm trying to move away from. But even beyond that, I wanted to say that I'm not in desperate need (or even minor need). elusivetiger makes enough money for us to be comfortable. I use the money I make from art to... buy more art supplies, or take the baby to breakfast because I'm tired of cooking, or to give money to charity or buy little presents for people.

If I was ever seriously in need of money, I would go get an 8-to-5 job. This is not a reflection on anyone who uses their talents to make a living; it just means that I, personally, no longer want to put that burden on the creative work.

I never object to money coming in, because I like it when the art pays for itself, and I like it when other people cook while I color on placemats with my daughter and talk about lemons ("Ewwwwwwww, that's sour! Blech!" "mmm, YUHM MEE!"). But if I gave anyone the impression I was in true need, I apologize. I'm not. If you pay me, I don't want it to be because I've accidentally twisted your arm with pity or fear.


I've been thinking a lot about the death-grip money seems to have on creative endeavors. It's sad that this topic feels too controversial to discuss. We have tied up too much the notion of talent with monetary recognition; to deny the latter often makes people feel as if you're implying things about their talent. I am still and often a prisoner of this programming... but more and more I am trying to leave it behind. I hope doing so will help people who patronize my art feel like patrons, rather than consumers, customers or friends giving loans to someone constantly on the edge of starving. :,

Anyway, that's all. -_- Feel free to ask any questions, though, if you have them.


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Tags: art, life, philosophy
Current Mood: regretful

My parents are out of town, so I buy some guava pastries and head to their place to visit with my grandfather for a little bit. I find him outside on the patio, watching the storm... ask him if he'd like a pastry. He says later, so I serve myself one, re-heat my coffee and go outside to join him.

"It's hot out here," he warns in Spanish.

"I know," I say.

"Ah, I forget you're a person-who-gets-cold-easily," he says.

I nod. "Like my father. I don't like the cold."

"Me neither. But most of that is age. You get cold easily." He waves a hand at his legs. "It's because this old, you're half in the ground."

I burst out laughing. "Papí!"

"It's true!" he says, with that devilish sparkle in his eye.

So we sit outside and watch the storm slowly move over the lake. My Spanish is bad enough that before speaking I have to carefully construct every sentence, which makes me reluctant to speak. I reflect that's not necessarily a bad thing as he explains to me that the time between seeing lightning and hearing thunder can tell you how far the storm is. I feel no need to interrupt him to tell him I know that; instead I just enjoy that he's willing to tell me.

As the storm breeze cools off the patio he tells me about what life was like when he was young. "No radio, no TV, no refrigerators... we cooked with carbon," he says. Carbon, I think... carbon? Charcoal? Later I find out it's coal. "Every day a man came to deliver milk, another to deliver ice for the icebox and a third to leave us coal. And doctors... doctors! There were no specialists. Doctors treated you for everything, and they either killed you or cured you."

I start giggling. It's in his delivery; he's enjoying himself.

"But really, no radio, no TV, nothing to distract you. Can you imagine?"

"What did people do?" I ask carefully in my stilted Spanish.

"They did this," he says. "Sit around on porches and talk for a while. Then they'd get up and move to the next house and do it again."

"This is pretty good," I say as we look out over the lake.

"Yep," he agrees. "Look at those birds! All the birds we get here are black. Not like the ones in Cuba that were every color. Here it's just black, black black. Well, we get a red one sometimes, but I think he's painted."

I giggle again.

He tells me about the first movies... and how irritated the muscians were to be put out of a job when movies developed soundtracks. About the first airplanes with their propellers, about the bombing of London in World War II. About how people live so much longer now. "My mother died at 23 of tuberculosis," he says. "And my sisters, they died young too. But I tell you, there are bad parts to living long. You have to watch the people you love leave your life."

We are quiet then. We have never discussed my grandmother, but we're both thinking about her now.

"But look at me," he says, "ninety-two and still walking on my own two feet, thinking with a clear head and eating mouth-open! I'm still glad I like food. Sometimes I think old people die of boredom from having to eat nothing but broth."

I laugh. "Oh yes. Food!"

"Especially sweets."

"Oh, yes, sweets!"

"Arroz con leche, pudding, flan, pudding..."

About an hour later I hug him good-bye and head home to relieve my mother-in-law, who is looking after the baby. It's raining, and I wipe my eyes. Hovering very close there is an existence without my grandfather, one that I live in, and my daughter. I'm glad we don't live in it yet.


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Tags: humor, language, life, mom in spots
Current Mood: grateful

NOM STRAWBERRY


Word of the Day
fugacious adj, 1: passing away quickly; evanescent 2: Botany withering or dropping off early
Wow, have never heard this one. Etymology dictionary says: 1382, from O.Fr. fugitif, from L. fugitivus "fleeing" and adds From 17c.-19c. Eng. had the useful adj. fugacious "likely to flee."

Great News!
Spots has earned enough for me to make my first charitable donation! It went to Wounded Warrior Project. Next time I hit the "made enough" threshold I'll be giving to Soldier's Angels. I'll alternate between the two for the length of the project... so they'll be getting microdonations from us for a few months. Thank you all for your support of the story and these two charities! You rock. :)

Baby at 22 Months
Yesterday at the playground we ran into a baby a hair taller than Wigglet and almost as heavy... who was not even one year old yet. Both my daughter and I stared at him as he staggered bowlegged about and strove to climb on things... it was very strange to see the two of them together. They could both walk and they were about the same size, but the not-yet-a-year-old boy had the odd head shape of a baby and the small face... and I hadn't realized how many facial expressions my daughter has developed until his permanently stunned baby-look reminded me.

It was a nice reminder that she's getting older and more like the rest of us. I'm looking forward to being able to communicate with her more clearly, rather than being forced to translate baby accent. ("Would you like rice or yogurt?" "YAIS CREEM!" "No, no ice cream. Rice or yogurt?" "CHEE ree OHS!" "Okay, fine, cheerios.")

Current Plans
I'd like to say "I'm totally goofing off this weekend," but in truth I'm already contemplating what piece to paint next, and doing compositional checks on a sketch I want to develop. I also have an appointment with Zazzle, since a couple of you had requests!

Elsewhere
• The Saint John's Bible. I've been following this project for a while and can't figure out how I feel about it. On one hand: wow, new illuminated Bible! On the other hand... a lot of it is kind of ugly.
• The Online Etymology Dictionary. My new bookmark.

Friday's From the Archives
Pronunciation Guides. I have a lot of new readers and this is still a question that interests me. Vote on that entry if you're so inclined!


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Tags: daily post, photos
Current Mood: sleepy

Spots the Space Marine is a biweekly serial. Find out more and read prior episodes.

( Cut for Verbal Violence )

###

Sickbay. Whiskers is on one of the beds with his arm immobilized. Spots pulls up a stool next to him.

"I brought you your peanut butter bar."

"What?"

"Your peanut butter bar. Hairball was going to eat it but I told him that he can eat your food while you're on fluids but eating your candy is just rotten."

"I don't think the vampires want me eating on an IV."

"Oh, absolutely not." She leans forward and whispers. "When I was in the hospital my husband snuck in part of a breaded steak for me. It was cold and tough from the trip but it was the best thing I'd ever tasted. Totally worth it." When he doesn't move to take it she sets it on the stand next to him.

"Weren't you and Claws supposed to be out on patrol?"

"We were... there were so many crabs out there we had to change out guns for flamethrowers and wait for engineering support. They started laying down grid flooring on the corridor so they couldn't break through that way again."

"Flamethrowers, huh? First time you use one?"

"Yes."

"What'd you think?"

Spots stares at nothing for a moment. Then: "It was... awing."

He grins.

"You get better soon."

"Working on it."

Spots leaves. Whiskers drums his fingers on his blanketed chest. Then he snags the bar with his good arm and tears the wrapper with his teeth. Moments later he is chewing.

###

Next week we'll meet the Lieutenant! Which means I have research to do.

Donate.

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Tags: spots the space marine, writing

Baby's Companion (on Stardancer)

And here it is at last! Look how big a difference from the original sketch! It's amazing how much the color treatment can change a sketch.



As I mentioned I'm keeping the original for my daughter, in case she wants it when she's older. But prints are available, and for the first time in ages I'm offering a cheap 8.5x11 option:

    8.5x11 photo print, $25
    8.5x11 giclee, $40
    17x22 photo poster, $45
    17x22 giclee, $125

You can expect about $10 in shipping for those big prints, and $6 for the small one (exact quotes vary depending on where you are). Please note that this piece is skinnier than it is wide, and there will be extra white space on the sides to preserve the original aspect ratio. Also, I offer layaway; just email me and we can put together a payment plan that works for you.

Zazzle stuff:

    Baby's Companion Mug.
    Baby's Companion Bag.

I can't get it to look right on the magnet/shirt. Yet. >.>

For those of you who want to see some extreme close-ups...
( ...there are some detail scans behind this cut! Down to the brush-stroke level! )

Finally, here's the DeviantArt link for those of you who like to favorite things there.


The real baby with dragon, months ago.

And that's it for this painting! Next up... I don't know. I'll think about it when I'm willing to think about how much work these paintings are. >.>


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Tags: art, paintings, process, progress, sale
Current Mood: done with it!

Today is Thursday, my other night off! I am going to work out and then do nothing.

Word of the Day
mantic adj : of or relating to the faculty of divination : prophetic
From the Greek mantikos, deriving from mantis, "prophet." (The bug having gotten its name because its posture reminds one of said prophets. I guess prophets were all hunchbacks who leaned forward.)

Baby at 22 Months
Yesterday we went through our morning greeting routine, which involves me hopping into her room, waving and dancing while she squeals and spins in her crib; I say "Good morning! Hello!" And she says, "HAAAIII!" and I tell her the day: "Today is Wednesday!" and she repeats, "WEHN DAE!" and then she gives me a kiss and I pick her up, spin her around and set her down.

But anyway, we do that every day but yesterday after doing this, she padded after me to the kitchen so we could eat breakfast, and on the way she picked up some of her plastic fruits. As I swept her up to change her diaper, I said, "What have you got there?"

And she said, very clearly, "AI HEHF GREHPS."

Which is the first time, ever, I have distinctly and clearly heard her use the pronoun "I" correctly. I have grapes. I was so stunned I didn't say anything for a moment, then I hurried to say, "That's right! Y—" And then stopped again because I had no idea how to praise her for it; repeating it the way I do for nouns ("That's right, that's a strawberry!") would have resulted in nonsense ("That's right, I have grapes!" when I don't) or in something that wouldn't have reinforced the concept ("That's right, you have grapes!").

I settled for the latter. She must be picking up pronouns by listening to the rest of us use them, so I'll have to hope she keeps doing that. But wow. An entire sentence, and a proper use of a pronoun to boot! Kids are amazing.

Current Plans
I'm going to post "Baby's Companion" after breakfast! And work on the Spots. That's the limit of my brain for... probably the rest of the week, even though I should be editing the Godkin. Expect instead that my brainlessness will result in my mugs, cups and t-shirts, which require no concentration. Thank you all for buying those, by the way!

Elsewhere
Nothing here today, I've been too busy/tired to surf. -_-


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Tags: daily post
Current Mood: listing